


Your Grace is Greater than Mine

by platypusbee



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Crusades, First Meetings, M/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:22:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25615045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/platypusbee/pseuds/platypusbee
Summary: Niccolò has been killed in battle and wakes up under a tree where he meets an enemy warrior who is not as hostile as initially thought.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 12
Kudos: 196





	Your Grace is Greater than Mine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nazgulofangmar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nazgulofangmar/gifts).



> Hey guys!
> 
> A short first meeting story about our favourite immortal boys that I wrote for my girlfriend who is desperate for more "The Old Guard" fanfics.
> 
> I hope you enjoy it and wish you all the best!
> 
> Bee

„I knew that Kerak was not the last I’d see of you.”

The voice that spoke to him was low and sounded amused. The words were spoken in an unrefined French tinged by a heavy accent. Niccolò tried to gingerly open one eye but immediately shut it again - the blinding light of the setting sun made his head feel like it had been split right down the middle and exacerbated the horrible, tight, crunching pain in his heaving chest.

Carefully he moved his hands to his head and became aware of two surprising facts: he could move his hands, which meant that he was not shackled or bound and he was apparently propped up against the trunk of a tree. He was sure that he drew his last breath surrounded by sand and the palm trees had seemed distant. He drew a few shaky, small breaths, which grew deeper once the pain in his chest made way for an ache and then only a feeling of tightness.

When he finally opened his eyes and there was no more direct pain, he could make out the scene in front of him: the battlefield on which he had lost his life lay in the distance, at least a mile or two away. The heat caused the air to shimmer and shift and he could not make out much apart from the birds that eagerly circled in the sky above. 

When he looked to the right he saw a man sitting in the shade of a palm tree, a few trees away from him. He sat upright and had his curved sword pointed towards him. His shoulder and the side of his face were caked in blood. Even though he looked different without the helmet on, he knew the man. He knew him well enough, in fact, you remember the face of the man who killed you. Especially if he killed you a fair few times. 

Niccolò could not find the strength within himself to worry about the sword or the man. He was tired and afraid of much more than another man could ever do to him: This was the fourth time he had died this year and he could not return to his fellow knights once more, claiming divine salvation through the hand of the merciful mother of God.

“It is you again? Madonna Santa, have you still not had enough?” he sighed and tried to steady himself against the tree.

“I could ask you the same, templar.” The other man gave him a weary grin. “I was not sure you would awaken this time.” 

“I was not either,” he admitted and looked ahead, in the direction of the circling birds.

“Did you bring me here?” 

The Saracen looked out to the battlefield as well and finally inclined his head. “My brothers lie there and if I had not seen their bodies and their death I could sleep more soundly and trust my God’s word with more heart than I do now. This is the only grace I could offer you” He looked over to Niccolò, his dark eyes shaded by his brows. “I did not forget the kindness you granted me. I will nor remain indebted to a heretic.” 

When they had met last, at the battle of Kerak, Niccolò had seen the Saracen try to defend a younger soldier, who had lost his helmet and horse and who was facing the King’s cavalry head on.  
He could not have been older than fifteen winters, sixteen perhaps. His movements were erratic, and he would not have lasted long the way he looked. The Saracen would not have been able to protect him for long either, the templars were closing in around them. There was no hope for the boy. Not without a horse. 

Niccolò thought of his younger brothers as he drove his horse through the battle and towards the young enemy soldier. He thought of their laugh and of the last time he held them as he rolled off the horse’s back right next to him. He remembered what he last said to them as he refused to parry the amateurish blow the boy took to the side of his neck and prayed for their safety as he saw the young man take hold of the horse’s reign and as his vision grew dark. 

“It was my youngest brother you saved. His name is Nasir.” The Saracen’s gaze was still on him as he spoke. “My master in Allah’s mercy granted him leave to return to our mother after he had news of how he had slain one of Jerusalem’s greatest knights.” 

Niccolò nodded and looked over to the other man with an ironic smile: “He did indeed.”

The Saracen shook his head and got up. “He did not. I stood beside him and I have fought you many times before. You could have killed him with a single strike, if you willed it so.” He began walking towards Niccolò, limping slightly. It seemed his leg had not yet fully healed. 

“You spared his life.” He continued. “Not only that. You gave your life on purpose. You saw that he was lost, without a horse. And you chose to suffer in his stead.” A few steps away from the other man he sat down across from him in the sand.

For the first time, Niccolò could properly see the man’s face. It was remarkably handsome: a strong jaw and elegant features with deep brown eyes. There was no malintent to those eyes, only a deep pensiveness. They sat and looked at each other for a while without speaking. The silence was not unpleasant and Niccolò did not feel uncomfortable under the other man’s gaze. He felt, in fact, more peaceful than he had in a long time.

“May I ask your name?” he asked when he finally broke the silence and surprised himself with the hushed and careful tone he used. 

“Yusuf ibn Ibrahim ibn Muhammad ibn al-Kaysani.” Niccolò nodded. The name seemed foreign at first, but the more he thought about it, the more he realized how close his first name was to the Italian “Giuseppe”. 

“I am Niccolò. Niccolò di Genova.” Now it was the other man’s turn to nod and to try and wrestle his tongue to speak the unfamiliar name. They looked at each other again for a while in silence, before Yusuf spoke again.

“May I then ask something of you, Niccolò di Genova?”His own name sounded foreign on the man’s lips but he nodded regardless. 

“Ask what you wish of me. You know my greatest secret already.”

“And you mine.” Yusuf gave him a small smile.

“The question has to do with what you did for my brother. I know of your God and he is not more merciful, nor is he greater than mine. I know of your King and he is not greater than my master. Tell me then,” Yusuf’s eyes were now boring into his own, “why is it then, that your grace is greater than mine?”

Niccolò felt his cheeks grow warm from the praise but shook his head. ”You were defending your brother’s life. And you dragged a wounded enemy into the shade, wounded yourself and barely able to walk, to spare him the sight of his dead brothers. I think we are more than evenly matched.”

When he looked up, their eyes met for a moment and Niccolò was astounded by the gentleness and weariness in them. The sun was continuing its descent and was starting to disappear behind the rocky hills in the distance.

“Will you return to Jerusalem?” Yusuf asked as he got up.

“I cannot.” Niccolò carefully stood up as well. “No matter how great God’s grace is, I can not make them believe I lived yet again. I can not risk what they might do, if they found out.” He could not suppress a sigh. 

“Will you return to Damascus?”

“My God is not more generous with his miracles than yours. I can not return.” 

Undecidedly they stood for a while gazing at each other, while the sun began to fade more and more. 

Finally, Niccolò said: “The possessions of the Lord of Ibelin are not far. He knows only my rank, not my face. I will stay there and make my way North after that.” Yusuf nodded.

“There is a village not far from here, where I will stay. No one will recognize me there.” He paused for a while, undecidedly, before adding: “After that, it seems, I will head North.” 

Niccolò smiled. “Then we shall walk part of the way together.”

Yusuf smiled as well. “I suppose we shall.”

**Author's Note:**

> But it wasn't just part of the way now, was it? They would walk their whole lives together <3
> 
> ... heavily inspired by "Kingdom of Heaven", btw.


End file.
